Food… in a bit.

The thought was absurd—no, worse than absurd. It was disturbing.

Cerina stared down at the peculiar shape in her hands. The elongated tubular stone at the top gleamed faintly, its smooth surface catching the faint light from the dull window. The two spheres beneath it, fused seamlessly to its base, gave it a strange symmetry, almost like it was designed for something specific.

Eat it.

The idea slithered into her mind unbidden, like a whisper from the dark. Her fingers flexed instinctively around the object as if to reject the thought, but it lingered, stubborn and persistent. She tried to reason with herself. It was stone—hard, lifeless stone. She couldn’t eat it. She wouldn’t.

And yet…

The pulsing waves from the object seemed to intensify, their rhythm almost coaxing, lulling her. Each wave began to resonate deeper, brushing against something buried inside her, something primal and strange. The churning in her core had returned, stronger now, and with it, a gnawing hunger that wasn’t like anything she’d ever felt before.

Her stomach twisted, but it wasn’t the familiar pang of hunger for food. It was something more ****, something she couldn’t define.

Cerina shook her head violently, her hair falling into her face. “This is ridiculous,” she whispered, her voice trembling. She lowered the object to her lap, as though distancing it from her mouth might help banish the intrusive thought. But the sensation didn’t fade.

Instead, her gaze locked onto the elongated tube at the top of the stone. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips involuntarily. The hunger clawed at her now, a deep ache that made her skin prickle.

Cerina’s hands moved of their own accord, lifting the object again. It felt lighter than it should, almost weightless now, as though it wanted to be lifted. The pulsing waves coursed up her arms, into her chest, and down to the twisting knot in her stomach.

She opened her mouth slightly before realizing what she was doing. Her breath hitched, and she clamped her lips shut, her heart pounding. “No,” she whispered hoarsely. “No, no, no.”

But the object seemed to respond to her hesitation. Its pulse grew sharper, its rhythm quicker, almost impatient. She swore it grew warmer in her hands, though the air around her remained cold.

And then she did the unthinkable.

Her hands moved, tilting the stone shape toward her face, the elongated tube brushing against her lips. It was smooth and warm, and polished. She inhaled sharply, the sensation sparking something inside her, a tingling that shot down her spine and spread to her thighs.

Her teeth grazed the surface of the tubular stone, and the hunger surged, overwhelming and undeniable. Her stomach churned violently, and she gasped, pulling the object away. But the moment she did, the ache in her core grew unbearable, as if something inside her was crying out for it.

“No,” she whispered again, tears stinging her eyes. “What am I thinking? It’s too hard to bite.”